


Sweet Fire

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: Romance Is Boring 'verse [8]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ash & Roger Never Get Together, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Romeo and Juliet References, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: Just a whole bunch of things I wrote about Ash & Honey being cute and getting together.Honey Woodrow belongs to toplesstaylor on tumblr.





	1. i think we're alone now

**Author's Note:**

> i posted this here this because im desperate to know the wordcount don't @ me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey finds out Ash has cold hands and somehow it leads to their first kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big soft gay mood. honey belongs to @toplesstaylor whomst i love and adore. me, writing my self indulgent Ash/Honey content: TREAT YO SELF

Roger slides the door to the balcony closed harsher than was probably necessary and the stars glitter overhead, peeking through from the thin veil of clouds that the gentle breeze carries across the sky. When Ash laughs, it comes with a lungful of smoke, and Honey watches it rise up and up _and up_ , until it’s a fine haze and she’s left just watching the moon through the clouds. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Ash is still grinning, resting her head on Honey’s shoulder and passing her the cigarette. The moment the door’s closed and the music’s a soft muffle, it’s as if the world shrinks down to just the two of them. Honey takes the cigarette with a noncommittal hum. She’s still got a leg all the way over Ash’s lap from where she was leaning over the other woman to snark at Roger, and Ash’s hand come to rest on her thigh, which would be great if Ash’s hands weren’t _ice cold_.

“Watch it, snowman!” Honey pulls back her leg like it’s been burned, but she’s grinning, sharp, and she curls in on herself, with one arm still slung around the ginger’s shoulders, and she takes a drag.

Honey can still feel it when Ash starts silently giggling to herself, and knows the older woman well enough to anticipate it when her cold fingers reach out to Honey’s ankle, Ash’s cool touch dancing up her shin.

“You’re a menace,” voice strained, Honey speaks through the smoke she’s still trying to hold in her lungs, rolling her eyes though there’s no malice behind it. She pulls her closer. Ash’s hand comes to rest on her knee. It’s with a grin that Ash looks to Honey, her thumb rubbing small circles against her smooth skin, teasing, _inviting_ almost. It’s here, this moment when Honey turns to meet her gaze, that she realises how close, how _nose to nose_ they are.

“First time someone’s complained about my fingers,” Ash smirks, and the statement seems to have the desired effect as Honey almost chokes on the smoke in her lungs, and has to pull away to laugh and cough in equal measures. She actually stands, leaning over the balcony railing for a moment, unable to keep the grin from her face.

There’s that- _god_ , there’s that feeling she’s been pushing down for a while, that fucking fluttering that comes up when she’s around Ash, like a nicotine hit back when she’d first started smoking, a rush, a warmth ironically enough. When she looks back at the sofa she’d just been occupying, all she sees is Ash sprawled out across both seats, hands behind her head, grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat, like she knows _exactly_ how she makes Honey feel. 

“I doubt that, sweetheart,” Honey fires back, beating down that fluttering feeling with a metaphorical bat; it wasn’t easy. It was barely working. Ash’s eyebrows rise, drunk and surprised at the notion of Honey questioning her, though she doesn’t get a word in edgewise, “if your fingers are always that cold, it doesn’t matter how good you fuck ‘em if you’re freezing them from the inside out.”

Ash turns _bright red_ , mouth closing as her response dies in her throat, and for the barest moment Honey is worried that she overstepped a boundary, but Ash bursts out laughing. It’s unrestrained, loud, smile creasing at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and when Honey makes a move to sit back down Ash obligingly moves out of her way, but almost immediately moves to lean against her the moment Honey’s settled again. Honey doesn’t complain, she wraps her arm around Ash’s shoulders, and can’t find it in her heart to complain this time when Ash rests a hand on her thigh, tapping to the beat of the song bleeding through the walls; it’s comforting more than anything else.

She passes the last of the cigarette over to Ash, humming along to what she can hear of the melody. She’s pretty sure it’s a Beatles song.

“Okay, alright, compelling point, whaddya want me to do? Wear mittens?” Ash snickers before breathing in the last of the cigarette, and the implication of her words has Honey’s mind already off to some unholy places, despite the suggestion of mittens. 

Instead of answering, Honey holds out her hand. Ash ignores it for the moment as she leans over her to stub the cigarette out in the ash tray on the table beside the sofa, before settling back again her. When Ash takes Honey’s hand, there’s an underwhelming moment of silence. 

“You’ve got cold hands too, you hypocrite!”

“They’re warmer than yours!” Honey argued back, but neither of them let go, and they lapse back into silence, or well, relative silence. Honey picks back up humming. Ash starts playing with her hand.

“Call _me_ the menace,” the ginger faux sulks under her breath, and it’s all Honey can do but laugh, unguarded from alcohol and good company, and she nudges Ash gently.

“’cos you are,” Honey smirks at her, voice low, and Ash rolls her eyes, playing at being terribly exasperated, but Honey knows she’s biting back a smile, “I wouldn’t like you half as much if you weren’t.” They’re so close, and the moment Ash’s expression turns fond and affectionate, pressing a smile against Honey’s shoulder to try and hide it, Honey knows she’s gone.

“ _Ash_?” It’s so fucking gentle when she says it, but the fluttering feeling is back in full force, and Ash gives her a questioning look. Pulling her hand from Ash’s. she reaches up to hold her face gently. 

It’s hesitant, it’s mesmerising, moving so slowly to give Ash time to protest if she wanted, though she doesn’t. She seems to glow in the moonlight, pale skin and ginger hair, she’s like a candle, and Honey’s caught up for a moment as he thumb traces a constellation of freckles along her cheekbone. A strand of hair falls over Honey’s face and she tries to ignore it where she’s caught up in Ash and how green her eyes are and how she smells like cigarettes and something fruity, but then Ash reaches out and tucks the strand behind her ear, smiling softly.

“Honey?” It’s a question, a confirmation, an ‘ _I’m okay with this- I want this if you do’._ She does. In this moment, Honey wants to kiss Ash more than anything else in the world. 

So she does.

She’d forgotten how soft girls are to kiss, and Ash isn’t warm but she’s _nice_ , cool and gentle for the night air, kissing Honey back without hesitation. But then she’s pulling away, hand coming to cover her face as she giggles, and it’s a beautiful sound but something about it hurts, and Honey is berating herself for being so vulnerable, for letting herself get this close only to have Ash laugh at her, and she’s about to shut down all-

“I’m sorry, I’ve never kissed a girl before, it’s really lovely,” it’s not mocking, it’s _happy_ , it’s curious and bright and _Ash._ Honey feels like she’s giving herself emotional whiplash as the relief crashes through her. It’s Ash who leans in this time, asks a tentative ‘ _may I_?’ before Honey’s laughing too, pulling her in and crushing her lips against Ash’s. 

“You’re such a fucking menace,” Honey is laughing between kisses, pulling Ash into her lap, wrapping her arms around her. Ash moves easily, laughing too, straddling her, and she cups Honey’s face in her hands, and Honey just smiles back at her, waiting for a response.

“Yeah, maybe,” Ash concedes, and even that’s enough to make Honey laugh a little, “but I’m cute so it’s okay.” Honey would scoff or roll her eyes, but Ash kisses her, and proceeded to trail her lips down Honey’s jaw and throat, and all she can do is laugh and hum approvingly. 

It’s not _something,_ it’s just what they were doing before, good friends, _best_ friends maybe, but with a few extra benefits. And maybe they go to movies and to dinner and picnics and all that other couple-y stuff that Honey thought was a bit lame, and it turns out to actually be sort of nice, _really_ nice, but they’re just _Ash and Honey_ , nothing more, nothing less… okay, maybe a bit more than that. 

They try to keep quiet about it, don’t ask don’t tell, and it’s hard sometimes, but the band doesn’t seem to care, Ash’s dorm mates don’t seem to care, even though Honey seems to be over every other day, perhaps they don’t even realise. But Honey doesn’t care what they think; Ash worries at times but tries not to, and she’s getting there. It’s terrifying at times to care this much about someone, a feeling they both have shared, but when Honey wakes up to Ash’s sleepy, morning smile, and she gets to gently kiss her as the sunlight drifts through the curtains as they’re wrapped up in each other and the blankets, she knows it’s all worth it.


	2. cerulean dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash wants a nap and Honey wants to work on a song. Both is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set before they get together. Not as short as I thought it would be. As always, shout out to @toplesstaylor for letting me use her beautiful OC. sappy title but i love.

“I’m tired,” Ash yawned, leaning herself onto Honey’s side, cheek pressed to the other woman’s shoulder.

“My bed should be clean enough if you wanna take a nap,” Honey didn’t even look up from the notebook she was frowning at. Tapping her pen against her chin, she scribbled something down, crossed something out, and finally turned to look at where Ash was watching her, chin perched on Honey’s shoulder. She was surprisingly close, enough that Honey could probably count the mass of freckles on her nose and cheeks if she wanted. “Can I help you?” Raising an eyebrow, Honey watches the ginger blink slowly, blearily.

“Can’t I just nap out here?” She asks gently, and if Honey’s heart softens, just a little, she won’t admit it.

“What? Like, sure, I just don’t-” and Honey’s halfway through pointing out that there isn’t really enough room for Ash to lie down beside her, but Ash circumvents that easily enough as she rests her head in Honey’s lap. 

“Is this okay?” Ash asks, shuffling about to get a little bit more comfortable; the three person sofa is the perfect size for her. Honey is quiet, trying to work through the surprise, that had suddenly taken her vocal cords hostage.

“Yeah, it’s- you know I’m trying to write, right?”

“ _Write, right_ ,” Ash snickered, before yawning again, eyes fluttering closed, “don’t stop on my account.” She’s got one hand tucked up by her chest, but the other is resting on Honey’s knee, and it’s _all she can think about._ It’s not that she doesn’t love Ash’s company, it’s just that she’s never known the other woman to be this affectionate with anyone else; maybe she should be flattered, maybe she should be worried, she’s not sure yet. All she knows is that she’s getting used to Ash by her side; Honey herself isn’t the most touchy-feely at times, so to be so comfortable with Ash like this is a miracle unto itself. She didn’t think too hard about it.

After deliberating for a moment, Honey tentatively rests her notebook on the side of her head. It shifts a little against Ash’s cheek as she grins with amusement, chuckling softly, but doesn’t comment. Honey huffs out a laugh of her own, but goes back to holding the notebook like she had been before, trying to focus on her lyrics and not on Ash’s calm and steady breathing.

It becomes easier as time passes, minutes ticking by quickly, the lazy afternoon stealing almost a full hour away before Honey’s happy with the bones of a song. She pays Ash as little attention as she would a blanket after a while, and then she’s humming, pen balanced in her mouth, carefully sounding out the beginnings of a melody as her now free hand scratches at Ash’s scalp automatically. 

“That sounds nice,” Ash murmurs, voice a little muffled where her face is partially pressed against Honey’s thigh, leaning into it where Honey was running her hands through Ash’s hair. 

“What?” Honey frowns a little, startled, as if suddenly remembering Ash was there in the first place, and she’s pulling her hand away from Ash’s surprisingly soft hair - _seriously, it looks too tangled to be that soft, she must go through so much conditioner_ \- to pull the pen from her mouth. 

But then Ash is smiling up at her, shifting to lie on her back and probably getting a great view up Honey’s nose, though she doesn’t seem to care. Something about her smile, so fond, so unguarded- Honey looks back at her notebook quickly, frowning at her work in hopes of forestalling the blush she can feel creeping up her cheeks.

“That, what you’re working on; it sounds really nice,” Ash reiterates, still smiling, “what’s it called?”

In truth, Honey hadn’t thought to give it a title yet, she had started on it at about three in the morning when the idea had literally woken her up, and all she’d written down the word ‘ _water metaphor!!_ ’ in a frantic haze and underlining it twice before falling promptly back asleep. Thankfully, the next morning, the two words seemed to spark recognition in her mind as she began actually working on it over breakfast.

“It’s just- I don’t have a name for it yet, I started working on it this morning,” Honey frowns, reading over the lyrics again, writing down a few plans for a melody in the margins as she went. “I don’t know, it’s a whole bunch of metaphors and shit, I’m still working on it.” She paused, not looking away from her work, “how was your nap?”

“Good,” Ash punctuated with a yawn, stretching a little, but instead of moving, she just gets herself more comfortable, “your thighs are _very_ comfortable.”

“You’re not the first person to say that,” Honey responds automatically, and it takes her a few moments to realise what she’s said, her implications, but Ash is laughing before she can be embarrassed or apologise, and she lets herself smile a little. She scratches at Ash’s scalp in a gently affectionate gesture and the ginger hums appreciatively, eyes drifting closed again.

And then, just for a moment, Honey watches her, so soft, unguarded; it’s been a long time since someone’s trusted her so wholeheartedly like this. Something in her chest tightens, and Ash cracks an eye open to look at Honey’s equally soft expression.

“What’s it about?”

“The song?” Honey asks, the moment breaking around her as she flips through her pages of lyrics, and she hesitates before telling the little white lie, “I’m not really sure; I’m sure there _is_ meaning somewhere between all these metaphors,” she laughs a little. 

“I’m sure you’ll get there, your songs are always stellar,” and she’s yawning again, settling back onto her side, and part of Honey is amazed at her ability to wake up from a nap and immediately go into another, but most of her mind is fixed on the compliment.

“You- shut it, you’re just saying that because you’re my friend,” she dismisses easily. It’s not that she doesn’t think she’s talented, Honey _knows_ she’s talented, she’s just never been good at taking compliments from her friends.

“Honey, we could be mortal enemies and I’d still tell you that your songs are awesome,” Ash says very matter-of-factly, and there’s a long moment of silence that follows, a warmth spreading through Honey’s whole body. She can’t keep the pleased little smile from her face.

“It’s-” Honey starts slowly, carefully going over her lyrics, “I think it’s sort of about how, at aquariums, it’s beautiful but distant, and it’s a little distorted, and it’s- it’s hard to connect-”

“With the fish?” Ash asks, and Honey sighs, slapping her lightly on the arm, but Ash just giggles in response.

“It’s a metaphor, you muppet.” She rolls her eyes, and Ash’s laughter dies down.

“I’ve never been to the aquarium,” Ash admits quietly, and she’s tracing circles on the knee of Honey’s jeans with her nail, knowing she should really take Honey’s bed if she’s going to keep napping, but really not wanting to move.

“I’ll take you one day,” Honey offers automatically, and Ash grins sharply, mischievous. 

“Maybe I’ll fall in love with the fish too,” she snickers, and Honey smacks her shoulder again, all the soft fondness she’d been feeling moments ago disappearing quickly in favour of exasperation.

“It’s a _metaphor!”_


	3. o trespass sweetly urged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash & Honey play Romeo & Juliet in a university production of Romeo & Juliet. That’s it. That’s the fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honey is the loml. @toplesstaylor i owe u my life; honey is hers, as is this concept, she just let me write it. there’s a lot of smoking in this one, but no real warnings. i mean there’s gratuitous shakespeare and misunderstandings, but that’s what u get with this sort of thing.

Ash had fully intended on not telling any of her friends that she was doing this; she had her audition on the night she knew Honey had work and Queen had a gig, and she made sure she was never learning her audition monologue in earshot of anyone that would blab about her little experiment. The idea of auditioning for her university theatre society’s rendition of Romeo and Juliet was too fanciful for her to entertain the idea that she’d be cast, but she was a romantic at heart, had spent too long looking at paintings and pictures of the star crossed lovers in textbooks and art galleries. She couldn’t help herself.

“Ash, call for you!” When one of her dormmates calls her to the phone, she’s confused. It’s been a week since the audition and she hadn’t been expecting to hear back.

“Freddie?” He’s the only one that calls her, the only one that has her number, though even he prefers to just show up unannounced.

“ _Hi, is this Ash Clarke_?” The voice on the other end asks. They’re asking her to play Juliet, and she feels like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to tell her it’s a joke.

“What? Me? What do you mean?”

“ _You’ve got-_ ” it’s the director on the other end, and she covers the receiver, muffling where she was presumably talking to the rest of the executives team, “ _we think you’ll play very well against our Romeo - who’s a woman, by the way, is that alright? It’s artistic_ -” Ash is quick to assure them that it’s fine, flushing though they can’t see it, and is immediately worried that they might read into her quick acceptance and realise she’s probably far more into the concept of kissing a female Romeo than they realise, but they just move on, grateful. “ _You had this real sweetness in your audition, and we think we can help you bring out a fierceness that will be really compelling on stage, hopefully_ ,” she laughs. Ash laughs too, but her heart’s not in it, and her mind’s a thousand miles away, panicking; she never expected to get a role at all.

God, Fred would _never_ let her hear the end of it.

The first read through was nerve wracking; she’d spent more than enough time in the university’s little black box theatre as the costume designer for previous shows, but never as an _actor_. She’s got a brand new notebook in her white-knuckled grip, smiling awkwardly at the distracted executive team, and she takes a seat in the audience, waiting patiently. As one of the first to arrive, part of her dreads every time she hears the doors open, worrying that it might be someone she knows, even in passing.

So imagine her dread when the doors are flung open, and Honey walks in with the confidence of someone who had already made the stage her home. Which, Ash considers, she sort of already had. Honey greets the director and the rest of the executives with a cool smile, her gaze scanning over the rest of the auditorium, until it settles on Ash, and her lips quirk; Ash, however, is _mortified_.

“Afternoon, Space Cadet, you designing for this thing?” Honey plops herself into the seat directly beside Ash, feet up on the empty chair in front of her, her tote bag full of highlighters and paper finding a home on the floor beneath the chair. 

“You don’t go to this university-” Ash frowns, suddenly _incredibly_ self conscious- how could she _ever_ help to be on stage in the same play as Honey Woodrow? The woman had more stage presence in her left foot than Ash was sure she had in her whole _body_.

“Nah,” Honey agreed, “but Lane lives with Emily and was talking about how they needed more people to audition-” it only takes Honey a moment to realise that the names were going straight over Ash’s head, and she gave a thin smile; “the production manager is a friend of Lane, you know, who I work with,” she explained, and prompted Ash, who made a noise of recognition. Looking out at the shabby, blank stage, Honey’s smile is a little bit self satisfied, “I landed Romeo.”

Ash actually blanched.

“God, of course you did,” she all but wheezed, panic building in her, bubbling away in her stomach, along with strands of feelings she couldn’t quite place or name right at that moment. After a beat, she took a deep breath, which was enough for Honey to look over with a frown of confusion at her reservation, but before the brunette can ask, Ash is already speaking, “no, I’m not designing; I’m actually playing Juliet.”

There’s a _very long silence_. 

When Ash finally looks at Honey, the younger woman is smiling with slight disbelief, and Ash isn’t sure what to read into it, if anything.

“ _Oh_?” Honey asks, quirking an eyebrow, more amused at Ash’s hesitation than anything else.

“Good ‘ _oh_ ’?” Ash asks tentatively, and the amusement on Honey’s face breaks as she rolls her eyes with exasperation.

“ _No_ , it’s a disappointed ‘ _oh_ ’, angry ‘ _oh_ ’, mortified ‘ _oh_ ’; what a fuckin’ _chore_ to have to spend time with you,” Honey leans back. If sarcasm didn’t _actually_ drip from her words, it wasn’t from lack of trying. Ash’s nervousness is melting, little by little, a blush rising on her cheeks as she drops her gaze, chuckling a little. “It’ll be interesting,” Honey muses, which is even more cryptic than the ‘ _oh_ ’, but Ash doesn’t ask, just nods.

“That’s one word for it.” 

“My star crossed lover,” Honey’s grin is evident in her words as she gives Ash’s thigh a pinch, the teasing banter doing great things for the ginger’s nerves, “you sure you’re up for it?”

“Fuck no,” Ash laughs, but Honey punches her shoulder lightly, assuring her that it’ll be great, and before too long, the director is calling them all over. Despite her nerves, Ash sticks close to Honey, mostly since she’s the only familiar face, though the director seems rather relieved that the women not only know each other, but also seem to get on.

Honey reads Shakespeare like she’s been speaking it her whole life, her words flowing at such a natural pace despite the unnatural turns of phrase. There’s an easy playfulness to the way she speaks her lines, and though the director already looks a little wary.

“ _I have lost myself; I am not here_ ;” she gasps melodramatically, hand raised to her forehead as if she’s faint, though the sharpness of her grin, despite her overdramatic tone, “ _this is not Romeo, he’s some other where_.” It’s already proving to be a _very interesting experience_. 

Ash, on the other hand, is tentative when speaks, stumbling over the flowery language, trying not to get too flustered as she half stutters through her lines. 

They make it to Act 2, to the masquerade and to where Romeo first spots Juliet, and Honey is almost smirking as she delivers her lines, leaning back on her hands with a casual confidence, gaze flicking from her script to Ash, who was reading her own script like she could divine some infinite wisdom from it.

“ _What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?_ ” She asks, and though the man playing the servant speaks, Honey’s still watching Ash. When she delivers her monologue, waxes poetic about Juliet, it’s fond and a little admiring, a surprising take on the lines that somehow works, and makes the director think Honey’s actually put some thought into her character already, “ _Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night._ ” Ash pauses in her highlighting, and Honey’s grin turns sharp at the faint blush she can spot tinting the ginger’s ears and cheeks pink.

“You gotta chill out,” they leave the rehearsal together, Ash asking if Honey wants to grab a bite to eat, and the moment they step into the cool night air, Honey shoves her hands into her pockets and says what’s been on her mind since she’d arrived. Ash, to her surprise, seems confused by her words, “come on, Space Cadet, you looked like you were about to blow a gasket every time something halfway saucy happened,” Honey hip checked Ash, and who laughed a little, though the set of her shoulders is still tense. “It’s just a play.”

“Yeah, no, I know, it’s just- I’m not used to being on _stage_.”

“Well you’re gonna need to get used to it, dude,” it may have come off a little sharper than Honey had intended it and she made a point of shifting her tone to something more fond, “you’re the leading lady, aren’t you?”

They get burgers a few blocks from Ash’s dorm and they talk about the show, which manages to help the tense set of Ash’s shoulders, though when she asks Honey if she had any theatre experience, the brunette was still cagey. 

“Performing’s performing, I’m just gifted,” she’s almost insufferably smug, but Ash has known her for long enough now that it doesn’t bother her. It’s not a real answer, but then again, Honey’s never been very forthcoming with any sort of information about her past, even something as seemingly insignificant as whether or not she’s acted before.

Honey has a natural charisma, a confidence when she’s onstage that draws all focus to her, and at first, of course it’s intimidating to be playing opposite her, but surprisingly enough it’s easy for Ash to find her groove on stage. Honey is fast and sharp, but Ash knows her innate timing far better than she had initially given herself credit, and it’s easy, in warm ups, in scenes, to play against her. Despite the younger woman’s somewhat aloof nature, Ash trusts her wholeheartedly. 

They’ve got Ash standing on a table as a proxy for the balcony they’re apparently building for her, and as they’re figuring out their blocking, Honey has taken to sprawling out on the floor just in front of the table, gazing up at Ash with admiration as she delivers her lines.

“ _I take thee at thy word, call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Romeo_.” She calls up, raising a hand almost lazily and gesturing up to Ash. The ginger looks to the script in her hands before looking sharply at Honey.

“ _What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, so stumblest on my counsel?_ ” She asks back, crouching down and peering over the edge of the table; Honey’s giving a starry-eyed expression, and Ash is struggling not to laugh or blush. How Honey manages to keep a straight face while performing will forever be a mystery to Ash.

But the scene goes on, and the urge to laugh dies quickly as Ash finds herself sucked into the narrative, trading banter and lovestruck looks with the woman she considered to be a good friend. Honey, for all she isn’t a fan of casual intimacy, seems at home on stage carding her fingers through Ash’s hair.

“ _O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?_ ” She grumbled, though Ash can see a traitorous smirk at the edge of her lips. Ash, now laying on the table script in one hand, reaches out, lifts Honey’s chin with a single finger.

“ _What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?_ ” She asks, raising an amused eyebrow at Honey’s almost pout that hides her own amusement. The line hangs in the air for a long moment before Honey starts wiggling her eyebrows, unable to hold back her grin, and Ash bursts out laughing. The director calls for a five minute break.

That’s sort of how it goes; bit by bit, scene by scene they work through the script until it’s all blocked. Honey brings an intensity that Ash comes to mirror, until they get to a line or a moment that will end up amusing them, and causing one or both of the girls to break character. Ash is slower to pick up lines, but she finds it easy to learn them if she records herself on cassette saying them, and listening back to it when she’s working on other projects, or up late at night tailoring various garments for her friends.

Freddie’s the first and only one of the band members she tells, and she’s sworn him to secrecy.

“I think I’d do rather well in Shakespeare,” Freddie muses where he’s sprawled out over Ash’s bed of an afternoon while she’s hemming a pair of his leather pants. Ash hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t comment one way or the other. He’s always been a good performer, but never much of an actor, not in a professional capacity, but Ash has never been much of anything on stage before now so she’s doesn’t think she’s really entitled to comment.

“How _are_ rehearsals coming along?” He’s very pointed in the way he says it, and Ash pointedly refuses to hear the smirk so clear in his words. 

“Good,” Ash muses, “we’re - _what did she call it?_ \- polishing, I think the director called it polishing. We’re polishing scenes now.”

“Oh, already?” He asked, and Ash pursed her lips. 

“We’re working on the suicide scene on Wednesday.”

A long silence hangs in the air, broken only by the sound of bedsheets rustling as Freddie moves to lie on his stomach, propping his chin in his hand.

“So what’s it like kissing Honey?” He asks, watching Ash turn pink.

“Wouldn’t know,” she avoided his gaze, hunching over the pants she was working on. Freddie’s smile grows wider. There’s a blush about her ears that is refusing to go away, especially not as he hums thoughtfully, but changes the subject.

The next rehearsal is a mess, at least for Ash, who’s in her own head about everything Freddie had said. She’d been practicing her lines rather diligently in the leadup, but they all seemed to have left her, and she feels like she’s letting everyone down on multiple levels. Even Honey, who usually seems unflappable and strangely patient, seems annoyed. 

“Is it weird?” Ash asks in a break; everyone in the room can feel that the energy’s off. 

“You’ll have to be much more specific,” Honey tells her, deadpan, before taking a long drink of water, “ _you’re_ being weird.” She adds after a beat. Ash’s expression sours. She deliberates for a long time, eats an entire apple with a pensive look on her face, and Honey actually leaves her to her brooding to go chat with the director. 

“Is it weird that we haven’t kissed in rehearsals yet?” Ash asks just as the director calls everyone back inside. Honey does actually take pause at that, and it’s the director’s turn to scowl.

“You can if you want,” the director buts in before Honey gets a chance, “but proper stage kisses don’t usually need to come into play until dress runs, you know?”

“Is that why you’ve been weird?” Honey’s half smiling, a little exasperated, but the tension in her shoulders is loosening and that frustrated aura around her is quickly dissipating. 

“I’ve never stage-kissed anyone,” Ash exclaims, and that’s the moment the tension breaks; Honey snorts, rolls her eyes and makes her way back to the middle of the rehearsal space.

“If it makes you feel better we can do it this run,” Honey offers, and Ash nods, gives a grateful smile, though her heart’s beating hard against her ribs. Ash has kissed plenty of people in her lifetime, has kissed plenty of women, but none of them are Honey. It’s not that Ash is unobservant; Honey’s hot, obviously, and she’s got this innate magnetism that draws people to her, and this secretive little smile that she wears sometimes that Ash doesn’t like to think too hard about because it makes her heart beat painfully fast. Of course she thinks Honey’s pretty, has even considered kissing her, among other things, but just in passing… this feels… _hollow_. 

“ _Eyes, look your last!_ ” As Honey goes through her final monologue, she gently caresses the side of Ash’s face where the ginger was laying on a table in the middle of their stage, “ _Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss, a dateless bargain to engrossing death!_ ” 

Ash cracks her eye open, just a little, sees Honey looking out to where the audience is, before looking down at Ash, her character breaking for a moment when she sees Ash looking up at her.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” she warns, and Ash has to bite back a smile.

“You don’t need to warn me, it’s in the script.”

“I feel like I _do_ need to warn you since you were being weird about it.”

“Telling me you’re going to kiss me at the start of the run was fine, now _you’re_ making weird.”

“If you’re gonna kiss her just do it,” the director sounds endlessly beleaguered, and Honey smiles gently for the barest moment before she presses her lips to Ash’s. It’s quick, chaste, but something inside Ash sparks, and when Honey pulls away she leaves the faintest residue of cherry chapstick on Ash’s lips.

“ _Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!_ ” Honey’s off again with the rest of her monologue, still holding Ash close, and Ash has to fight to keep from smiling. It’s not how their first kiss should have gone, though Ash has never really considered how it should go, but it doesn’t feel as hollow as she thought it would.

When they get to the costume parade, it’s strange. The clothes don’t sit quite right; they’re sourced rather than made, though it’s what the budget allowed so Ash wouldn’t begrudge them, but it feels strange to be wearing things that she had no say in. It’s been years since someone else dressed her, and she can feel every which way the garment doesn’t fit right. They’ve got her in a high-waisted, forest green skirt, and a short-sleeved floral blouse, and she brings her own pair of shiny, black platforms from home. The skirt has to be safety-pinned into place, and the director thinks the outfit looks better with the top button of her shirt undone, but honestly she doesn’t look half bad. Ash takes a few minutes to look at herself in the mirror of the bathroom where she’d gotten changed, a little nervous to face everyone else in costume, not sure what to expect. 

Honey is the first thing she sees when she steps into the theatre, standing patiently with her hands in her pockets as the costume designer flits around her with a can of hairspray, and the makeup artist is smudging dark eyeshadow in lieu of dirt onto her face haphazardly. It’s not her usual style, but the clothes look like they were made for her. They’ve got her in a garish, blue and pink patterned shirt, untucked, unbuttoned enough that Ash wonders why they’d bothered with buttons at all, over a pair of reasonably tight white jeans, artfully dishevelled with little rips, and dirt along her knees and shins. She looks like she’s just gotten out of a fight, a perfect counterpoint to Ash’s tight, immaculate ensemble, and when she catches Ash staring, Honey just smirks.

“You look cute,” Honey practically drawls, and Ash is suddenly acutely aware of how short her skirt is and how tight her shirt is and how she can’t bring herself to look directly at Honey herself. 

“You too,” Ash says, smiling but still avoiding Honey’s gaze as she walks past to dump her street clothes onto her bag in the audience. The director calls her over and Ash obliges, standing awkwardly next to Honey as they play with her hair, arguing about what to do with it. “Ah, not cute,” Ash amends quietly, and Honey turns to her, raises a single eyebrow, “you look quite, uh, handsome.” Honey just snorts out a laugh and looks straight ahead.

“What if we gave her a flower crown,” the costume designer tried, though the idea was quickly vetoed by the director. Put out, the costume designer dejectedly rifles through the racks of costumes and hands over what she’s calling the ‘ _masquerade outfits_ ’, saying she’d get to Ash’s hair another time. 

“A costume party is a modern masquerade,” the director says blithely when Honey and Ash exchange skeptical looks, their respective costumes in hand. Ash’s has wings. Honey’s has horns. The director isn’t exactly subtle with her symbolism.

They’ve dressed Ash like an angel, and her heart is in her throat at the thought of what Honey would be wearing. Why is today of all days the moment Ash’s latent crush on her friend decides to manifest itself. Couldn’t it have waited until _after_ the production? Ash walks into the theatre from the bathroom and she thinks she feels her heart skip a beat. 

Honey’s leaning against the proscenium arch, as if waiting for her, illuminated by the golden stage lights. She’s wearing a surprisingly well fitting red, velvet suit, a women’s cut that didn’t actually seem like it needed to be tailored all that much judging by the way it hugged her. The jacket was undone at the front, and instead of a shirt, all she was wearing beneath was a black bralet. There’s a pair of plastic horns sitting on her forehead, and an intricate red mask over her eyes. Ash is frozen in the doorframe, following Honey’s hands with her eyes as the woman lit a cigarette and slid the lighter back into her pocket. 

“Hey Space Cadet,” Honey’s grin is all teeth, sharp, like she knows exactly what Ash is thinking, or not thinking as the case may be, all thoughts having left Ash’s head the moment Honey had smiled at her, looking as good as she did.

“You guys look _fantastic_ ,” the director enthused. Ash blinked quickly beneath her own mask, looking away from Honey as she moved to hang up her other costume, before standing patiently as the director and the costume team looked between the two girls, deliberating, making notes.

“ _If I profane with my unworthiest hand_ ,” Honey begins quietly, making her way to Ash with that snake-charmer smile of hers, reciting lines from the masquerade off the top of her head, “ _This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss._ ” Before Ash can comprehend what’s happening, Honey’s got a hand on her cheek, thumb brushing her cheekbone. She’s so close, Ash can smell her perfume and the smoke from the cigarette in her other hand, can see the little gold flecks in Honey’s eyes where she’s looking at Ash like-

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tease me,” Ash rolled her eyes, tone quietly derisive, taking Honey’s hand and lowering it from her face gently, stepping away where the taller woman was getting too close for Ash’s comfort.

“I’m running lines,” Honey countered, but stepped back, giving the ginger her space, the easy playfulness disappearing quickly, her smile tight as she took another drag from her cigarette. “You were struggling last time we ran this one, weren’t you?” She asks, piqueing an eyebrow, but it was far more clinical than Ash was used to her being.

“ _Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this_ ;” Ash rattles off slowly, frowning slightly as she recalled the lines. When Honey recites her lines, they’re flat, and she stops dead mid-sentence when the director calls them to attention, turning away from Ash with an almost comically sharp turn. It’s as if the temperature of the room has dropped ten degrees, and the silk slip dress they’ve got Ash in for her masquerade does little to hide the goose bumps that lift along her arms. 

They’re the last two in for the fitting, since the director had wanted to spend the most time with them, and she suggests to everyone that they go get drinks after. Ash hesitates for a moment, looks to Honey who, like Ash herself, was back in plain clothes, but Honey doesn’t look at her, she’s fishing around her tote bag for her wallet, not even looking up at the offer. Ash agrees, and to her surprise, so does Honey.

Honey makes conversation with everyone _but_ Ash at the bar, and Ash has it in her to be a little offended. Of course she’s also concerned, uncertain of what had made Honey’s mood turn so quickly, but when Honey physically leaves to get out of a conversation Ash had joined, it feels very pointed; it feels like an insult.

“What’s your problem?” It comes out very sharp, and Ash isn’t drunk enough to say that she didn’t mean it that way. She has to corner Honey by the bathroom. Honey looks her over for a moment, drunker than Ash is but doing a good job of acting like she’s not. She’s still got a little eyeshadow on her cheekbone and Ash has to fight against her impulse to reach out and rub it away.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Honey says, voice flat, looking over her shoulder at where the others were seated, talking and enjoying the night amongst themselves. “I think I’m gonna take off.” She doesn’t leave room for arguments or confusion as she slips away from Ash as the ginger is still trying to process what she’d said.

Rehearsals are… strange after that. Honey’s reserved in her performance, not in a way that anyone’s able to accurately pinpoint, but she holds back from touching Ash, from getting to close, from giving her starry-eyed looks as she’d once done. They do full run-throughs and Honey kisses her quick when scripted, but the initial playfulness, the flirty edge to her lines, it had vanished. Ash, for her part, has her lines down, but her heart’s not in it. 

Speaking of her heart; despite how cold Honey had been, that traitorous crush of hers refused to disappear, in fact, it just grew stronger. Honey barely looked at her, barely touched her, and her heart grew heavier with each passing rehearsal.

“It feels like you’re just going through the motions,” the director scrubs her hand over her face during the cue-to-cue; it was the middle of tech week and everyone was already tired. Ash was sweating beneath the lights, sitting up on her balcony, legs dangling over the edge. Honey was leaning against the set piece just below her. 

“We are; this about the tech, not us,” Honey rolled her eyes, sliding down the structure to sit, arms crossed over her chest; she’d been smart, had worn shorts despite how cold it is outside, as if anticipating how warm the stage could get under lights.

“Honey, could I talk to you for a moment?” There’s a softness about the director’s words as she looks between her two leads; Ash has her head resting against the banister, expression teetering on the forlorn side of neutral, Honey had her left foot tucked beneath her right thigh, and was refusing to look at anywhere but a single scuff mark on the stage, “come on everyone, quick water in, water out, be back here in ten minutes to pick up from the start of act two, scene two - Honey?” She offered her hand, and the brunette took it, hauling herself to her feet and following the director from the theatre. 

While the rest of the cast and crew scattered like cockroaches when the lights get turned on, Ash stays where she is, idly swinging her legs. She doesn’t feel dehydrated, just a little disheartened, her fingers curling around the bars of the banister, while she sulked. The man playing Mercutio offered to get her waterbottle, but she gave him a small smile, waving him off. 

The moment Honey bursts back into the room, she’s radiating frustration like Ash has never seen before, making a beeline for her bag and coat in the audience.

“Ash, Honey’s going to grab some lunch and we’re going to have the stage manager fill in; could you go with her?” The director asked, voice painfully innocent, and suddenly Honey’s mood made sense.

“Yeah, I mean I guess,” Ash sighs, finally standing and making her way down from the balcony. She’s glad to be out from under the lights, but the way Honey’s making a face like she’d just bitten a lemon fills her with apprehension. After pulling on her coat, Ash carefully collects up her things, looking around for Honey herself before being told that she’d already left.

They sit, unmoving, in Honey’s car for almost a full two minutes. Silent.

“She wants us to talk about whatever’s bothering us, doesn’t she?” Ash asks carefully. Honey turns the keys in the ignition instead of answering, peeling out of the carpark and heading down the road.

“Nothing’s _bothering_ me,” Honey’s voice was eerily level, though her expression said otherwise, “I’m just trying not to overstep my bounds, you know? Fuck, I’m trying to be respectful, what’s her problem?” There’s nothing Ash can say to break the silence; she can’t look away from Honey’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. As time passes, as they get closer to whatever destination Honey has in mind, the tension in her shoulders eases, her grip on the wheel loosens a little, and she reaches over, turns on the radio.

“You weren’t the reason I was uncomfortable,” Ash finally hears herself say, and it’s not exactly the truth, it is in the way that Honey takes it. She can’t outright say that she’d developed feelings for Honey, and that having her so close, she might clue into Ash having those feelings. “I like working with you Honey, I just have my own shit going on sometimes that’s got nothing to do with you.” Another lie.

Honey’s jaw tightens for a moment before she sighs, and pulls over into a parking spot.

“We’re here.”

They get take out together, and eat in Honey’s car, and the mood has shifted to something more familiar, more comfortable. Ash feels like she can breathe again.

“We’ve been doing this shit for months,” Ash half grins as they’re pulling back into the carpark behind the theatre, and Honey gives her a confused look, “if you’d made me uncomfortable, I would have definitely told you by now.”

By the time they get back, the cue-to-cue is up to Scene Four, and the discovery of Juliet’s body, and the woman playing Lady Capulet is wailing as Ash and Honey sneak in the back. Even at a glance the director can tell that whatever had been off between them had been fixed. 

The next day was a dress run, followed by a tech run, and Ash could feel her heart in her throat. From side of stage she watches Honey laugh and make merry with her fellow Montagues, leaning herself against Mercutio to wax poetic about Rosaline, that melodramatic playfulness having come back in full force, lifting the whole performance. 

And then there she is, making her way on stage dressed as an angel, with Lord Capulet, and Honey’s wearing that red devil ensemble that makes Ash’s mouth go dry, and the music starts. She tries to keep her mind on the steps of the dance while people spoke their lines around her, and it manages to catch her by surprise when she looks to Honey, and sees the woman gazing back at her with adoration in her eyes.

“ _She doth teach the candles to burn bright_ ,” Honey sighs, and Ash feels herself turning pink, and she has to turn away, dancing along with the rest of the ensemble.

The music at the end of the dance ends and the ensemble begins to filter out, leaving Ash and Honey alone on stage. Ash laughing gently, waving goodbye to her dance partner as Tybalt and Lord Capulet finish their lines and leave the stage. Ash, walking backwards, runs into Honey, as is scripted, and when Honey catches her, she holds Ash gently by the shoulders.

“ _If I profane with my unworthiest hand_ ,” she pauses for a moment, her hand sliding down Ash’s arms to hold her wrists gently, she looks to Ash’s eyes for silent permission, a confirmation that it’s okay, that she’s not uncomfortable as she’d been the last time they’d been this close, saying these lines. Ash, in turn, looks at Honey with awe, with wonder, eyes large and shining with intrigue. She nods almost imperceptibly. “ _This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss_.” Taking Ash’s hand in one of her own, she steps close, her thumb brushing Ash’s palm, gentle, flirty smile adorning her lips as her other hand comes up to cup Ash’s cheek.

“ _Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much_ ,” she tells Honey in earnest, taking the hand from her face with her own free hand, leaning into her touch for a moment before removing the hand from her face, “ _which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch_ ,” Ash holds out their linked hands towards the audience, carefully and deliberately linking their fingers together, “ _and palm to palm_ ,” voice gentle, but still projecting, she looks back to Honey, “ _is holy palmers’ kiss_.” 

“ _Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?_ “ Honey asks, stepping back and pulling a cigarette from her pocket, as they added into the blocking the week before. Ash watches for a moment as the cigarette is lit, musing.

“ _Ay, pilgrim_ ,” Ash agrees with a small smile, “ _lips that they must use in prayer_.” She said pointedly as Honey gives her a sharp grin around the cigarette. But she doesn’t move back, and Honey steps up to her, her cigarette balanced between her fingers as her other hand cards through Ash’s hair.

“ _O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do_ ;” and she’s stepping Ash backwards, which hadn’t been scripted, though the director doesn’t call for the scene to halt, “ _they pray, grant thou,_ ” Ash’s back hits the proscenium arch, and her expression is so open, so confused and a little thrilled at this turn of events, “ _lest faith turn to despair_.”

“ _Saints do not move_ ,” Ash’s words tumble from her lips _very_ pointedly, though she’s a little breathless, looking up at Honey, who’s smiling in a way that she _knows_ isn’t an act, “ _though grant for prayers’ sake._ ”

“ _Then move not,_ ” Honey smirks, “ _while my prayer’s effect I take_.” And while Honey leans in, Ash bounces up on her toes to meet her, curling her arms around Honey’s neck and kissing her hard. There it is again, that _spark_ , that _something_ , and Ash’s heart is singing with triumph, even if it is meant to be just for the stage. When she pulls back, Ash’s mouth is stained with Honey’s red lipstick, and the woman in red is smirking. 

“ _Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged_.” Honey’s wearing a triumphant smile, and she leans away just a little to take a draft of her cigarette. 

“ _Then have my lips the sin that they have took_.“ Ash is smiling, bright and adoring and playful when she takes Honey’s face in her hands, pulling the taller woman back to her.

“ _Sin from thy lips?_ ” Honey asks with an amused chuckle, smoke tumbling out with her words, hanging golden in the air between them, “ _O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again._ ” She seems more than happy to let herself be pulls back in to meet Ash for another kiss. 

When they’re on the same wavelength, something magical happens. There’s chemistry between them, the way they seem to anticipate the other without even seeming to realise it. They play off of each other so well, so comfortable with each other, and the director could chalk it up to the two of them knowing each other before the play, being close friends before the project, but that’s not how friends look at each other, on stage or off. 

Tech week leads into show week, and every show in the lead up to opening night is brimming with that same electric chemistry, and none of the crew in the audience can seem to look away. The director thanks them for working out whatever had been plaguing them both, the wording of which has both Ash and Honey rolling their eyes, though the director looks incredibly pleased with herself. 

“You wanna grab a drink?” Honey asks after the preview, for which they’d received glowing praise from the few people and one journalism student who was reviewing that they’d invited along. By now, the panic and nerves were starting to set in for Ash, and she’d agreed without hesitation.

Ash is on her third cider when Honey tells her that she’d invited _Queen_ to opening night. Ash gives such a start, having been taking a sip of her drink, that ciders comes out her nose. Honey passes her napkins, but she’s also laughing; Ash seems much less pleased.

“Roger and Freds are _never_ going to let me live this down,” she grumbled, and Honey’s smile widened.

“It’s not them you’ve gotta worry about, I’m the one with access to the production photos,” Honey reminds her, and Ash’s expression drops. “I’m probably gonna get them framed, maybe get one of you in that angel outfit printed out wallet sized for Freddie, you know he’d love that.” The worst part is that she’s right, he’d show it off at any opportunity, equal parts proud and wanting to embarrass Ash.

“How in the fuck am I attracted to you when you actively try to ruin my life?” Ash sighed forlornly, taking another big gulp of her drink. Her own words take a moment to register, but Honey is already talking.

“Have you seen my face and my ass? There’s your answer.” It’s so blithe, her tone incredibly matter-of-fact, and she finishes it off by taking a sip of her own beer. After a beat, Ash takes a deep breath, looking straight ahead.

“So did they say yes to the invite?” Ash asks, and Honey laughs, low and amused.

“‘course they did.”

And another silence fills the space between them, Ash’s heart hammering hard against her ribs as she considers her next words very carefully. Turning on her stool, she faces Honey, expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Is it- is it normal to develop, like, _feelings_ for your costar in these sorts of things?” She asks tentatively, and Honey’s lips twist into a smile, and she turns carefully, regarding a sort-of drunk Ash with affection.

“I haven’t _actually_ been in too many of these before,” she admits, “you know my forte’s singing-”

“Honey, I love you.”

For just a moment, Honey’s usually cool facade breaks with a moment of panic; she sits up straight, eyebrows raised, mouth pressed into a thin line. Ash’s stomach drops, and after a beat, she’s apologising, but Honey takes her hand.

“ _Love_ ’s a very strong word, Ash, and you’re drunk.” She says it gently, and Ash, for the moment, is terrified that she’d completely misread the situation. She wants to protest that she’s not that drunk, but Honey’s thumb is brushing against the back of her hand comfortingly, still speaking, “we can have this conversation tomorrow.” It’s far more diplomatic than Ash had expected her to be, but she can’t help but frown.

“If you’re trying to let me down, I’d rather have this conversation now, so I can repress it in time for opening night.” 

That’s enough to get Honey to laugh, and she gives Ash’s hand a squeeze.

“Listen, babe, that’s absolutely _not_ the conversation we’re having, as long as you still mean what you said tomorrow.” And she pauses for a moment before sliding from her bar stool and in between Ash’s legs, taking the ginger’s face in her hands and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Ash’s mouth. 

They get into two separate taxis outside of the bar, and Ash, who still isn’t that drunk, spends an hour on her bed staring at the ceiling, marvelling over the past few months and everything that had happened. The next day she’s a bundle of nerves, and jumps when there’s a knock at her door.

“Your RA let me in.”

It’s Honey, who’d arrived early enough to take Ash to get dinner before the show. Ash scrambles from where she’d been trying to read on her bed, getting to her feet and making her way to Honey, who’s leaning in her doorframe when she opens the door.

“I mean it. I still mean it, absolutely,” Ash greets her with. Honey’s smile is all teeth.

“Hello to you too,” she murmurs, leaning down to actually kiss Ash. Ash, surprised by this turn of events, is quick to kiss back, her hands finding Honey’s hips, pulling the taller woman closer and smiling against her lips.

“I don’t think I’m quite at _love_ ,” Honey begins, pulling back for a moment, and Ash’s eyebrows rise, the barest hint of amusement on her lips.

“Babe, I was drunk last night, and you’re right, _love_ is a _very_ strong word,” Ash is quick to assure her, and she sees the barest moment of relief pass over Honey, before she’s smiling again, her arms around Ash’s neck.

“But I-” she paused, actually hesitated a little, “but there’s definitely feelings, probably,” she’s gone a bit quiet, like part of her doesn’t want to be admitting even this much, and Ash’s smile grows wider, grows far more endeared.

“ _Probably_?” 

“Probably.” Honey _actually_ flushes, but she lets herself smile, lets herself get pulled in to another kiss. 

Ash is the one who steps back this time, grabbing her coat, keys, and wallet, taking Honey’s hand as she closed the door to her room. Honey’s the one that links their fingers together as they head down the stairs to the car. They get trash food together, eating greasy burgers in Honey’s car as they waiting in the carpark behind the theatre for their call time, having arrived far too early. 

Honey’s smoking, her hand on Ash’s thigh as the ginger reads their first review in the university newspaper that Honey had picked up earlier that day. They get four out of five stars and Ash is wide-eyed, closing the paper loudly and bewilderedly musing that she never expected this.

“Which part?” Honey asks with a half-smile, cigarette balanced between her lips where she tips her head to her shoulder to look at Ash. 

“Any of it,” Ash answers honestly, taking the cigarette from Honey’s lips and having a drag herself. Honey smiles, can’t help herself.

“Who knew you were a half decent actor,” she snickered, and Ash flushed, folding up the paper, musing on the statement as smoke sat in her lungs.

“Nah,” she finally breathed out, gaze a little glassy as she looked through the windshield, the cigarette loose in her fingers, “those four stars are all yours; singing’s your forte, yeah sure, but anything you do on stage is stellar.” As soon as the words leave her lips, Honey’s gentle hand is on her cheek, guiding Ash to face her, to kiss her, and Ash laughs gently before their lips meet. It’s sweet, tastes of smoke and something else that’s just naturally _Honey;_ Honey’s kissed her like it’s meant something plenty of times on stage over the past week, but never like this, never so intimate, so gentle. This isn’t a performance. 

Ash is the one who moves, but she doesn’t break the kiss, instead she carefully maneuvers herself, climbs over the stick shift and into Honey’s lap. Honey hums appreciatively, takes back the cigarette and inhales as Ash peppers kisses down her neck and across her collar. When Ash leans back, just a little, she takes Honey’s face in her hands and her smile is _blinding_. She looks so fond, so _proud_ , and though Honey’s answer smile is much fainter, Ash knows the woman well enough to recognise the affection in her eyes. She kisses her again.

The show is the best they’d done so far, their flirting banter coming as naturally as breathing, and when Honey kisses Ash against the proscenium arch, they hear someone in the audience whistle - Honey thinks it was Roger, but then concedes when Ash says that it was probably Freddie, which they later find out it was.

“I read the review this morning,” Brian tells Ash after the show; she’s out before Honey, who has to wipe the fake dirt from her face, and Queen are waiting for them by the stage door. Each of them wraps her up in a hug in turn, Freddie going so far as to tuck her under his arm once the others had had their turn; he was almost painfully proud. “You guys deserved the full five stars.”

“Well this show was better than the one we did for the preview,” Ash laughs a little, cheeks turning a little pink at the praise. She patted down her pockets, looking for her cigarettes.

“Shame that,” John mused, regarding her fondly, offering her a lighter when she found them, “you did a really stand out job, you know?”

“Who knew you had it in you,” Roger’s beaming, and he leans forward, pinching her cheek, and Ash swats at him, playing at being irritated. That’s about the time Honey emerges, and there’s yet another round of hugs and of praise, but once they’ve all stepped back, Honey slings a casual arm around Ash’s shoulders.

“We’re heading to celebratory drinks, you guys wanna come?” She asks the band, before turning to Ash, wondering aloud if the director or the rest of the cast would mind. Ash shrugged, told her ‘ _probably not_ ’, before they have a quiet moment of celebration between themselves.

“One show down,” Honey mused, voice dropping low, speaking almost into Ash’s ear.

“We did it!” Ash agreed, passing her the cigarette, smiling as Honey pecked her lips before taking it.

“If _either_ of you-” a voice interupts them, and there, sticking herself between Brian and John, is the director, pointing at Ash and Honey, “show up with a hickey tomorrow, you’re out of the play.” She warned, before heading towards the carpark.

“I know how to cover a hickey!” Honey calls to her, as Ash is apologising quickly, and the rest of the band is struggling to decide whether it’s funny or bewildering. “She’s kidding,” Honey rolls her eyes, “we don’t have understudies.”

“How did she even know we were- ?” Before Ash can get the full question out, she catches Freddie’s very pointed look where Honey’s arm was around her shoulder, and she realised just how close they were.

“Everyone who just watched the show can tell you two are together,” Brian tells her, and Ash flushes, pressing her face against Honey’s shoulder, who’s chuckling. Her grip on Ash tightens; she pulls her closer. After a moment, she’s asking if the guys want to come to drinks, and they’re all agreeing eagerly, always ready to take any chance to get drunk. 

Honey drives her car back to her apartment and leaves it there, since the walk from her place to the pub they were all meeting at was only fifteen minutes. She and Ash talk the whole way there, arm in arm, and a cheer rises when they step through the doors, most everyone else having arrived before them. 

Crammed into a booth with her cast and her friends, with Honey’s arm around her, her hand on Honey’s knee, it feels right. Performing is a strange and wonderful experience, and though she’s pretty sure she’s happier behind the scenes, she can’t deny the rush that is the stage. Or perhaps she just gets that rush from the way Honey smiles at her.


End file.
